Diamond in the Rough
by gallifrey calls now
Summary: Like all men, the Dragonborn is struck speechless at the sight of Elisif the Fair.


Summary: Like all men, the Dragonborn is struck speechless at the sight of Elisif the Fair.

Diamond in the Rough

He hadn't yet met Elisif. Her counterpart, Ulfric, he had – and the Imperial had been admittedly impressed by Ulfric's candid manner, by his honest voice and charismatic words – and then realized that Ulfric Stormcloak's speech was as much a weapon of war as a sharpened sword.

But so was Elisif's beauty.

In a land where beauty was long, blonde hair, shining blue eyes and a tall, strong stature, Elisif shone like a diamond in the rough. She was small; not quite Breton-sized but definitely of Imperial origin. Her red hair cascaded o

ver her shoulders, burning like fire in the dying embers of the day. And her eyes – only the most exquisite emeralds could possibly compete. She was a beautiful oddity in a Nord-run province, trying desperately to cope with the loss of her Nord king and still keep a tight grip on a divided nation.

The Dragonborn was instantly mesmerized.

As he stepped into her court, the tall, dark-haired Imperial fell to one knee before the beauty before him and swore undying loyalty. Elisif, in return, invited him to her quarters and tearfully asked him to return her late husband's horn back to the temple of Talos. When he returned, the sun was shining in Solitude and Elisif received him into her quarters with thankful eyes and a smile playing on her full, soft lips. When he bowed before her, Elisif gripped his shoulders and beckoned him to sit with her. The Dragonborn could only acquiesce, watching as the material of her dress pooled into her lap, soft, delicate hands curling into into tiny fists above it.

"Please, look at me."

The Dragonborn instantly looked into her emerald eyes, which shone with unshed tears. A feminine hand reached out between them, seeking his rougher one. The Imperial carefully took hold of her palm, careful not to hurt to sensitive skin.

"I know your name," Elisif said, earnest eyes boring into his. "I know you are a good man. And I know that my thanks will never be enough for what you've done for Solitude, for Haafingar."

The Imperial warrior protested. "Hush," she chastised, a finger placed over his lips, dark beard tickling the white, milky skin of the maiden's hand. "You have done so much… for me, as well. Smart men such as yourself do not offer their help simply out of the good of their heart. What was it that convinced your to help?"

It took a few seconds for the Dragonborn to be able to respond. It was difficult, when her eyes were so beautiful and her face was so close to his, closer than it had ever been before – "At first," he began with a ragged breath, "I was curious. I'd already met Ulfric Stormcloak and I was intrigued by your story, as told by him – or rather, your late husband's story." Elisif pulled her hand back from his hold and the Dragonborn instantly felt colder than he'd had even when he had been stuck in the middle of Eastmarch with nothing but the thin clothes he was wearing.

"Why have you spoken to Ulfric?" she asked quietly. Hesitating.

"I need to know," he began, black eyes burning in spite of their dark colour, "which side of the war should win. And I _have_ to make this decision carefully, because if I do not, the I might inadvertently destroy this province by joining the wrong army."

"Why do you say that?" Elisif replied, petite hands holding onto her knees. "One man cannot change the tide of a war."

"No," he agreed, coming before her and kneeling at her feet, placing his rough hands on top of her soft ones. "But the Dragonborn can."

Elisif's eyes widened in shock and she reared back into the wooden chair. The Imperial man stood up and walked to the opposite corner of the room, watching her reaction silently.

"You're the hero," Elisif remarked quietly, standing up and making her way across the room to him. At the Imperial's nod, she asked, "And what choice have you made?"

After a few tense moments of silence, the Dragonborn stepped forward and gently grabbed both of Elisif's hands, bringing them up to his lips to kiss them gently. "I fight with my people," he said, voice low. "I fight alongside the men and women who raised me. I fight," he paused and looked her straight in the eyes, "for you, my Jarl."

"Please," she replied, eyes glittering, "call me Elisif."

"Elisif," he returned swiftly, before bending down and gently placing a kiss on rosy lips. Before the Jarl could react, the Dragonborn was gone in a flurry of leather armour and long, dark hair, footsteps echoing as he stepped with determination on the marble floors of the Blue Palace.


End file.
